Friend and Brother
by SheWhoScrawls
Summary: "The time shall come when man to man shall be a friend and brother." -William Shakespeare. Moriarty is threatening more than just the city of London, and Holmes is left with few options and an alternative he doesn't want to face.
1. The Wounds of a Friend

_A/N: This is my latest non-OC Moriarty fic. Started with one of Lemon Zinger's first sentence starters. See her profile :)_

* * *

_The kisses of an enemy may be profuse, but faithful are the wounds of a friend. – Proverbs 27: 6 NIV_

* * *

_-Watson-_

****The unnatural laughter broke the silence. It was chilling and rang with an otherworldly menace. Goosebumps rose on my arms, partially due to the fact that I crouched in a dark alley on a cold and rainy night in late April, 1891.

Surveillance work for Holmes was never by any means boring, but it often involved sacrificing enough luxuries and comforts that I frequently wished I was elsewhere.

Not that I was a man used to living in luxury. My time as an army surgeon in the Second Afghan War had without doubt taught me the true neccessities of survival, particularly in that merciless and deadly jungle where a man is judged by his own personal morals.

It was merely that my leg and shoulder were aching miserably as everlasting reminders of the single term I'd served, and I was afraid I'd fall ill by morning, as was indicated by my sniffles and the deep coughs I had to suppress every couple moments, though I doubted they would be heard over the sounds of the storm.

I envied the men who sat in such warm oblivion in this house on High St. Well, not exactly. They _were _plotting the crime of the century, and the only part in it I wanted was in helping to foil their nefarious scheme.

So they were plotting something generally evil and secretive. With the window cracked open "to let in some air." How convenient for my intentions.

"Holmes won't realize what's going down until it's too late," Professor Moriarty said with a certain pleasure, a malicious grin playing at the corners of his mouth and soon widening as his sense of triumph deepened.

The inner sanctum of his organization stared at him almost adoringly as he turned away from the fireplace and in the direction of my window, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully, in a manner that was frighteningly Holmes-like.

Holmes. I had to find him now. And yet I remained enthralled by this particular episode of eavesdropping.

Moriarty whirled to meet the gazes of two of his lackeys- Montague and Garfield- and spoke in his same, cool tones, perfectly calculated to leave out any unnecessary emotion. "You two: go on to Baker St. and see what's keeping Mr. Holmes. I would have expected him to make a surprise intrusion on our little meeting by now. Pick up Parker and Johnson from whatever pub they're frequenting on your way."

As the two lieutenants stood and made to leave, I gasped. Now there could be no delay in finding Holmes. I scrambled to my feet, but my limbs were stiff and unresponsive, and I staggered back against the brick wall of the house.

I held there for a moment to regain control of my body, then took off as fast as I could allow myself to go, keeping a safe distance between me and the two silhouettes heading in the direction of Baker St.

* * *

_-Holmes-_

****"You know I cannot authorize that, Mr. Holmes." Calm as could be, Lestrade stared earnestly into my face.

Damn the rules, anyway. I leaned my respectably tall person closer to him so that I was half over his desk and still towered over him. "_I don't care _if it's authorized or not," I growled in as low and menacing tones as I could muster. "Just get the guards to Baker St. and make sure he doesn't die."

"Do you honestly think I can dispatch that many men without the Chief finding out?"

And damn the Chief. Damn this entire business. "I also don't care what your chief thinks of it. I need that protection detail."

Lestrade never faltered, never backed down, showing me that he was even more tenacious than I'd thought. "And I am sorry, but I cannot give it to you."

Lestrade was the pick of a bad lot; he rarely failed me. And never had when it came to the Moriarty case.

"Inspector?" The young and blundering Sergeant Cummings peeked inquisitively around the door.

"Yes, I will be with you momentarily, Cummings." He turned to me. "Now I would strongly suggest that you leave my office, unless there is something else I can help you with."

I rose indignantly. "No, sir," I said coolly, and felt my cloak billow behind me as I turned on my heel and brushed past Cummings on my way out.

How could Lestrade be so blind? I had already informed him of my visit from Moriarty a few days ago, on the 22nd. He knew the Professor planned on killing Watson to get to me. And yet he was refusing to protect my Boswell until we could net the organization.

My mind whirled with angry thoughts toward the man as I ignored Bradstreet calling my name from somewhere out of my line of view and exited the building.

If Scotland Yard could not assure me of his safety, then I myself would gladly lay my life down in front of him. Once I was out of the way they would not need to kill him, anyway. I had hidden the majority of my notes from him, he had no knowledge that his life was in danger of any kind. And I intended for it to stay that way.

The reader may wonder why I had Watson eavesdropping on secretive meetings of the Moriarty gang if he was wanted as leverage for me to drop the case. Yes, Moriarty knew that I knew of these assemblies, but there was assuredly no way he could know I had Watson listening on them unless Lestrade was a double agent…

Even through the storm of dark emotions which barraged me mercilessly I nearly smiled at the mental picture of Lestrade employed by Moriarty. It was… ludicrous, as an understatement.

But Moriarty surpassed me intellectually… he was more on an equal level with Mycroft, or perhaps past brother mine, even, so I did not know whether he could have detected Watson's presence or not. I hoped to God that I had not put my staunch companion in a situation too risky, that I had not unwittingly sacrificed my most valued pawn. Moriarty may have been willing to gamble with life, but I most certainly was not, and my archenemy knew it all too well.

I had hailed a cab and was opening my mouth to direct the cabby to the Baker St. rooms when I changed my mind, and instead gave the squinty eyed fellow the address of the Diogenes club.

* * *

_-Watson-_

****I was soaked even through my supposedly waterproof Inverness, and chilled to the bone. Holmes always chose the most miserable nights for surveillance exercises such as this one.

Each boom of the thunder which continued to grow in pitch until it was deafening brought forth to my mind horrible visions from Afghanistan.

Yet still I did not prevail to the conditions and perservered in my measured pursuit of Moriarty's large and muscular lackeys. It was some consolation for me to think that they were every bit as soaked as I was.

Everything Holmes had ever taught me and all the naggings he had forced through my brain were taking effect, and I glanced over my shoulder often to see whether I was being followed.

But this night was an incredibly good night for reconnaissance, if one was looking for a twitchy, mysterious feeling of paranoia. If whoever was tailing me (if indeed someone was) saw me turn around, they could merely duck into the shadows, which were present everywhere. It was a perfect night to hide- and an awful one to seek.

After years of working with Sherlock Holmes, I had learned to never let down my guard, but when we were introduced to the matter of the Moriarty syndicate, I became even more tense than ever, knowing what the man was capable of. Or rather, not being able to comprehend the entirety of it. This vast presence of unknown dangers filled me again now as I pushed forward, having no idea what lurked in the shadows both in front of and behind me. I could be being watched and not even know it… this paranoia caused a sensation of feeling the nonexistent eyes on me. Or were they nonexistent?

Feeling too- dare I admit to it- afraid to see what horrors lay behind me, I put every shred of my tenacity into pressing on.

* * *

_-Holmes-_

As usual Mycroft and I were the only ones to occupy the otherwise deserted visitor's room.

"And remind me again why you are disrupting my routine, Sherlock."

I fixed elder brother with a soul-freezing glare. "Because you are just as much a genius as Moriarty."

He snorted. "Please don't be modest, Sherlock."

"What I mean is, I want you to think as him for a moment."

Mycroft furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"Do you think there's any chance Moriarty could have spotted Watson?"

Brother mine raised his eyebrows. "Well, there's always the foolproof look-out-the-window. The Doctor was crouching directly below it."

I cursed profoundly, earning a glare of disapproval from Mycroft, even though we were alone.

"Sherlock!"

"Mycroft, you are above me in every way, so surely you see that a man such as Moriarty most certainly would have deduced his presence. I have been so blind!"

"He isn't dead, Sherlock."

"But he will be."

"Sherlock, you told me to think like him. Now I am telling you that if I were him I would not kill him. At worst I'd hold your biographer captive for a while as leverage, but I wouldn't commit acts of violence when sheer intellect will do. At best I'd lull you into a sense of complacency by letting you off with a warning that you would not be so lucky next time an opportunity arises, then striking when you do not expect it."

I growled something I very much hoped was unintelligable and left without another word.

I had no idea how I'd live with myself if my acts of foolishness were the cause of Watson's demise.

I was persistant. I refused to surrender and be beaten at my own game. Here I still had not surrendered, and yet was being beaten. And I was too blind and too powerless to stop it.

* * *

_-Watson-_

Stopping near an unknown public house (the sign was obscured by the sheets of rain), the party of two turned into four, which made them all the more threatening.

Through the entire journey my targets had been taking many unnecessary detours to shake off anyone who might be following them, and obviously they had not been as successful as they hoped.

The most recent of these detours ran along Copp's Row, and the uphill climb combined with the coughs I needed to let out and yet could not risk it were making me exceedingly light-headed, and I knew I needed to stop for breath soon or else risk fainting from lack of oxygen.

But if I stopped, then I would surely lose my quarry. And I could not afford to do that, for Holmes' sake especially.

I managed to go on for a couple more moments, but my judgement as a physician stopped me from continuing when I caught myself stumbling, and became conscious of the fact that my whole body was trembling uncontrollably, and my breaths were coming shallowly, and much more rapidly than they should be. I gulped in mouthfuls of cold air, but it seared my lungs, and I was not able to force myself to breathe any deeper. My training led me to apply my fingers to my wrist, whereupon I found that my pulse was weak, and so quick it was quite irregular.

I could not continue, against my better judgement. I knew for sure that if I went on, I would truly collapse.

I was torn. Holmes would be concerned more with my well-being than his own, but I was his… friend.

Was I betraying him by catching my breath instead of following the men who were out to harm him? If I was, I didn't reconcile myself. Only when I was sure I had gained enough of my breath back did I continue.

But before I did something like a shadow passed me by. That was not surprising, the whole street was composed of shadows at this hour, but this shadow was tall, taller than Holmes, even, and I could almost swear I saw deep-sunken eyes glint at me as a reptilian head turned.

I had not the presence of mind to think more about it. I gathered some air into my lungs and continued.

Of course I had no sight of the men now, so I took my usual route the rest of the way to Baker St., with a few variations to confuse the person or persons who may or may not have been tailing me.

When I got there, my pulse quickened again, this time due to fear and anxiousness, for Moriarty's lieutenants had gotten there first; the lock had been broken, quite forcibly, and all was quiet.

With baited breath I slipped silently through the door, peering around me cautiously. Several of the gaslamps had been broken and extinguished; only one at the end of the hall remained lit. By its dim glow I could see that windows and vases had been shattered, and glass and porcelain shards coated the floor, crunching under my body weight as I stepped on them.

I glanced at the knobs on the gas jets. Wait a moment… The lamps hadn't been turned off when they had been broken. So the gas would have filled the space, and then the windows were broken afterwards to disperse it. But who had shattered the bulbs, and who had been trapped inside with the deadly gas to break the windows?

Fear filled me, even more so than before, fed by a strong current of it that wondered if I was too late, if my stop for rest had been the difference between finding Holmes and not stopping those men from taking him.

"Holmes?" I called, hoping for some answer, _any _answer.

Dead silence screamed back at me.

I rushed up the stairs in a frenzy. "Holmes? Holmes, answer me!"

Still nothing.

I was on the top floor now, in my own bedroom. Still no sign of Holmes.

"Holmes, are you here?"

A hand clamped tightly over my mouth, and a voice growled in my ear, "He's not here. I'm afraid it's just us."

Then two more strong arms pinned my own arms behind my back. Two were behind me, then. Two others moved into my line of view. Four of them- Montague, Garfield, Parker, and Johnson. Four against one. I could not win that fight.

Garfield's hand tightened as he held a sickly sweet rag over my mouth and nose. Despite being detained so, I began to struggle against Montague's hold he had on my arms, for I recognized the scent as that of chloroform.

Garfield spoke softly into my ear. "Now, now, don't fight it, Dr. Watson."

He was right, I could not go without inhaling for much longer. Finally, I was forced to draw a breath, and fell limp almost instantly.

* * *

_A/N: I feel evil evil enough to leave you with a cliff hanger until next week. Will try to update next Friday, though I don't have much done on this story, so you may have to wait eventually. Now that you've read, please review! -SWS_


	2. Pays the Penalty

_A/N: OK, so I meant to upload this yesterday, but I forgot to ask KCS's permission to use Cummings and Alfie, two of her OC's. Many thanks to Lemon Zinger's proofreading comment for reminding me. Hope you enjoy! -SWS  
_

* * *

_We all praise fidelity; but the true friend pays the penalty when he supports those whom Fortune crushes. -Lucan_

* * *

_-Holmes-_

I had to admit that Mycroft was right: Moriarty was too smart to use violence where intellect would do. So in the event that he _had _kidnapped Watson, at least I could be assured that my Boswell would not be directly harmed. But of course the Professor had other matters to attend to, so Watson might be left to Moran, who, being the only member of the group not afraid of Moriarty, would not hesitate to disobey orders, and there would inevitably be violence there.

The thought of my stalwart companion left to the likes of Colonel Moran horrified me immensely, and I had to shove the images which sprang to mind into the back of the proverbial closet with some force.

There was no cabby in London stupid enough to wander the streets looking for passengers in this dismal weather; those few I saw were undoubtedly in the employ of Moriarty, and I was forced to walk the cursedly long way back to Baker St.

I _did _sorely need to change my soaking clothes before checking in with Watson.

I sighed out of longing and relief when I came in sight of 221B, Baker St. A strong cup of coffee with a dash of brandy and a change of dry clothes awaited me inside.

I arrived on the doorstep. Why were the front windows shattered… and the lock broken?

Something was utterly wrong about this scene. I pulled my revolver from my cloak where I had strove to somehow keep it dry and slipped silently into the front hall.

Such a mess I had not seen since the day we moved in. But then the hall had been cluttered with stacks of boxes, not broken glass and furniture.

I leaned over an upturned table to examine the gas jets below where jagged shards of the bulbs were still attached to the mount on the wall. I gulped fearfully, for the knobs spoke that the gas was still on, if at this point disabled.

So that was why the windows had been smashed from the inside, leaving the majority of that debris scattered in the bushes outside. But who had been trapped inside this enclosed space with the leaking gas to do it? And did they manage to disperse the toxic fumes before lasting damage was done?

I prayed it was not my all too faithful Boswell who had been imprisoned in the makeshift gas chamber.

I began to ascend the stairs. "Watson?" I called.

Dead silence. Hopefully not literally.

* * *

_-Watson-_

I woke slowly, gradually, and on opening my eyes could detect no difference in light. Swabs of cotton seemed to muffle my senses, and I had to struggle back into full consciousness. Evidently I'd inhaled even more of the chloroform than I'd thought.

As my brain began to function at its normal rate again the most recent of memorable events all came flooding back at once in an inescapable torrent of visions and feelings, sights and sounds alike.

Holmes! Where had they taken him… and where was I?

I was lying somewhere indescribably comfortable, and my hands did not appear to be bound, so if I chose to do so I was seemingly free to get up, but I was not about to risk it. Knowing Holmes had broadened my spectrum of doing daredevil things, but it was pitch black, and I had no idea what was there waiting for me that I could not see. It was clearly some sort of mental torture, designed to frustrate me and maybe get me to talk. Obviously Moriarty didn't get my limits any more than Holmes did.

In the silence I heightened my senses, assuring myself that I'd notice any peculiar sound.

Perhaps it was not as long as it felt in the darkness, but finally, after some measure of time I heard voices.

"Don't be an imbecile, Downing, and let me in. I wish to speak with him."

"But sir, the chloroform might not have - "

"It has been hours, of course it has worn off. Now do as I say, Downing."

"Yes, sir."

I heard a latch or a bolt click and slide back, and a door opened behind me. I twisted around from my position to look, and squinted in the sudden light to make out the silhouette in the doorway, my attempts to no avail.

The figure was tall, and reminded me of the one I believed had passed me as I had stopped for breath on my way to Baker St.

The door shut, leaving the room dimly lit by the glow of a single candle held by my visitor. The flame floated through the room as the man who held it moved eerily, as silently as a cat stalking the mouse.

I then heard a soft creak as the figure sat down somewhere across from me and the candle was set down in between us.

I looked up at who it was. The dancing flame cast patches of shadow on his strangely illuminated face, but I recognized the reptilian features of Professor Moriarty.

He smiled, the effect was frightening combined with his cold, unfeeling eyes. "It's good to see you awake at last, doctor."

* * *

_-Holmes-_

I had searched every nook and cranny of this house, but still found no sign of Watson, either alive or dead. So no sign that he had ever been here at all… but there were signs of a struggle, he had returned from his reconnaissance, and Moriarty, as cunning as he was being aware of my friends' presence, sent men to follow him back. Then he was taken by surprise, and kidnapped. But no… not merely that, for he was trained enough not to let them take him without enough of a struggle that would inflict sufficient damage that I would be able to see traces of it left behind. So he would have had to have been knocked unconscious for them to take him. It was at least consolation that his body was not here.

But I had been a fool in not being there with him. I wondered once again if it was right for me to withhold the truth about the matter, if I should have told him… but no, he was much better off not knowing the full extent of the danger he was in. I could not help but feel selfish, but I would do anything to retain his life, and I had to promise myself that I would tell him once it was over, and he was safe.

But I had failed to keep him safe even after I had sworn by all I held dear that I would take it upon myself as my sole duty. I cursed angrily and kicked an already broken chair to vent my feelings, just as I heard a small noise from the doorway.

As an automatic reflex I whirled around, pointing my revolver at said door. I only saw a very small, dirty face, who raised his hands to show that he was not armed, and stepped completely into my view.

"S'only me, Mr. 'Olmes, sir!"

I sighed in relief and put down my weapon. "Alfie! What in blazes are you doing here?"

"Oi was walkin' down the street and saw some windows broken, decided to see wot 'appened 'ere, and if yew and the doctor were all roight."

"I appreciate your concern, lad. Now I have an errand for you to run, and two shillings for you if you get back in half an hour to complete the second half of the task."

"Anything for yew, Mr. 'Olmes!" the lad said eagerly, motivated by the prospect of money.

"Do you remember where my brother lives?"

"Yes, sir!" The young irregular nodded.

"Well, I need you to go get him and bring him back here, tell him I said so. Once he's here, I want you to go grab the other boys and have them patrol this street and a specific address on High St., I will tell you which house once you have done the first part."

"Yes, Mr. 'Olmes." The little one nodded vigorously and ran off. I thanked God for his youthful energy and speed, and only prayed that Mycroft could help me.

* * *

_-Watson-_

Taking advantage of the dim and flickering light I took in my surroundings, albeit that I could feel the eyes of the criminal mastermind watching me closely, no doubt observing things I could not even comprehend.

There were no traps on the floor, it was just plain and carpeted from what I could see. I had lain on a sofa, and my 'prison' appeared to be only a sitting room, cozy and furnished in the usual style.

"I would hope you are not formulating a plan for escape, doctor," said Moriarty, any possible emotion in his voice not identifiable.

"No, though I confess I do not find myself in the most ideal of situations."

"I would consider it quite ideal considering the full circumstances, and also the other less pleasant alternatives."

I shifted positions where I sat on the sofa, staring into the face of a genius. "If you don't mind my asking, professor, what is your motivation in this?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What do you hope to gain from holding me captive in these… unusually civilized circumstances?"

He smiled faintly, and I could read an almost nonexistent vein of humor in his face. "You mean that Holmes has not told you?"

"Since I do not know of what you speak, I think it probable that he has not. Perhaps you would care to elaborate?"

"To answer the second half first, surely he _has _told you that I am a gentleman. A gentleman does not hold people in dark, dismal dungeons with enormous rats and salty meat rations but no water. Surely if a gentleman is to follow a path as I did, then he must be civilized with his prisoners, or it will tarnish his splendid reputation."

"I am compelled to point out that that 'reputation' of yours only lies with the more blind of the community. There are those of us who are cognizant enough to see past your masquerade."

"And I am quite sure you would not have been cognizant enough were it not for Holmes."

"I would not have heard of you were it not for Holmes."

The professor's eyebrows raised. "Now I confess I did not expect that."

"I had other things on my mind besides European celebrities."

"Yes, I have heard your practice has been doing quite well."

"I might inquire of you why we are discussing this, but it brings me back to the first half of my previous inquiry, which you still have not answered."

"Of course I must be courteous, doctor."

Courteous? He was holding me captive… though in a sitting room, and excepting the chloroform it appeared I had not been physically harmed in any way.

"Holmes has gotten far too close. In a proverbial sense, I fear that before long he will bring down the temple around me. I have told him twice to drop the matter, but we both know how stubborn he can be."

I cocked my head, actually surprised at how calm I was in this conversation. "I am afraid you are not telling me the whole story. I should like to know the rest."

"The rest is not for me to tell. It is Holmes who is mostly responsible, I would suggest you ask him about the rest."

"I assure you that I would if I could, but there is the obvious to take into account."

"Of course."

Wait a moment… "You're holding me as leverage until he drops the case."

Professor Moriarty's eyes flickered to the ground for a moment before he looked me straight in the eye again, still that calm calculating machine, less than human to eyes like mine. "Yes. But I cannot tell you any more than that, for I have already told you that I am not the one to ask. I only made the proposition."

"What proposition?"

There was silence for a moment. Moriarty looked me over, as if deciding if it was worth giving me an answer. Finally he spoke the ultimatum he had given my friend, and I felt my heart skip a beat. "He drops the case, or you die, doctor."

* * *

_-Holmes-_

I did one more walk around the place while waiting for my brother to arrive with Alfie. There were no more clues that I could perceive, but having another great mind on it might do that bit of good we so desperately needed.

I ran quickly down the stairs when I heard them return, in hopes that I could convince Mycroft to give his profound deductions on this unfortunate matter.

When I reached the ground floor I found a very out of breath and flushed Mycroft standing in the hall, revolver at his side and looking about him in dismay. "Sherlock!" he cried. "What in heaven's name happened?"

"It is an equation, brother, just the way the professor likes it. There are too many variables here, and I was rather hoping you might help me with them."

"Sherlock, do slow down. To use your too appropriate metaphor, variables in what equation?"

I willed myself to take a breath before retelling my narrative from the beginning. "After I went to see you I came back here because I hoped Watson would be back. I found... well, this. It appears there was a struggle, then he was knocked unconscious so as to be easily taken. But as I said, there are variables. There is no evidence save the broken furniture. In fact, no sign that he was ever here at all. I need to know what more you can gather, Mycroft."

As my brother pocketed his revolver and began to look around, I turned to Alfie, pulling two shillings as promised from my pocket and holding them out to the boy, who eagerly grabbed them. "Alfie, I want you to go find the other boys now. Send some here to watch the street, the others to 13, High St. Can you remember that address, lad?"

"13 High St., Mr. 'Olmes."

With that he left again, and I could be assured that the specified areas would be well guarded before long.

Mycroft turned to me with a grim face. "It's all a setup, Sherlock."

"A setup? Please elaborate, brother."

"Moriarty knew the Doctor was there. He sent two men to follow him back here. The Doctor arrived to find the place like this. He would have thought they kidnapped you. While his attention was turned they took him. All this was staged, and it worked quite well. They got just what they wanted. It's obvious what they want now: you drop the case, or the good Doctor is left to Moran... or else the professor himself would kill him."

My face darkened to match my sibling's, and a lump formed in my throat on hearing _kill him._

I could not let it happen... but it was happening, right under my nose.

Finally I mastered my anger and spoke. "We need Lestrade here."

* * *

_-Watson-_

"You know he won't drop the case, professor. He has all the evidence he needs to convict you. It merely needs it to be handed over to Inspector Patterson. You don't even know that hasn't happened already."

"I know more than you think, doctor."

"He _won't _drop the case." I repeated it only to assure myself of it. He couldn't. We were so close, _too _close, only to have it end now. It couldn't end now.

"You had better hope for your sake that you're wrong." Moriarty looked straight at me, he did not smile, nor frown. The emotion was impossible to read, perhaps because it was so carefully nonexistent.

Holmes could not lose the battle now, after all his hard work. I would gladly sacrifice myself to see that the case was finished and Moriarty and the syndicate brought to justice. So since I had almost no chance of leaving this place, I decided to take advantage of it.

"You knew there was no chance of me reaching Holmes to tell him what you were plotting. That is why you allowed me to leave."

A cruel smile twisted his features and his eyes glinted in amusement. "Of course I only deal in certainties."

At his words my mind flashed back one year in time, to the trial of one Mr. Culverton Smith.

_"Did you or did you not have any deliberate intentions as to the death of your nephew, Victor Savage?"_

_"But of course I only deal in certainties."_

I only just refrained from calling him what was in my mind. "So how do you plan to pull it off?"

Moriarty stood up, eyeing me strangely. "Just sit back and watch," he said, and then left without another word.

* * *

_A/N: I don't exactly know why, but brilliant minded criminals are SO fun to write. I've always loved doing Moriarty :) I know so many people think that Moriarty isn't the best villain, since Conan Doyle was in a rush to write FINA and "kill off" Holmes, and I agree. But I think fanfic authors who aren't in a hurry have brought so much more to the character. Giving the actual person more depth and description has been my joy, and I confess that now I've made Moriarty a better (or more terrible criminal), FINA is my favorite to fanfic for. Let me know if you agree, I love to get people's opinions! -SWS_


	3. There Is A Destiny

_A/N: Yay, this is up a bit earlier in the day than I anticipated being able to do! Sorry about the delay with the last chapter, but I want to thank KCS for allowing me to borrow her OC's, Cummings and Alfie. Anyhow, this is the last chapter I have finished for this story. Grimaces. I'll have to work on it. Enjoy! -SWS_

* * *

_None goes his way alone:_

_All that we send into the lives of others_

_Comes back into our own. –Edwin Markham_

* * *

_-Holmes-_

****We hailed a four-wheeler – of course not the first or second but the third that came our way – to take us to Scotland Yard. Mycroft bellowed for the driver to hurry, and it was a wonder the horses could keep their footing on the wet pavement, ever being drenched from heavenward.

In the cab as we were rocked from side to side I looked up at my brother and began to miss my Boswell. It would normally be my old friend Watson who sat across from me, tightly gripping his revolver, but tonight the figure was noticeably wider in girth, being that of elder brother.

Watson and I were a team- one of us was incomplete without the other. Though it broke what Watson would call my 'aloof exterior,' I could honestly admit that I felt a gaping hole inside me where his presence should have been.

Mycroft knew better than to interrupt my thoughts, so we rode in silence until we reached Scotland Yard.

When we arrived I didn't even wait for Mycroft to catch up to me, it was his loss if he lagged behind. I was only concerned with finding Lestrade, and retrieving my map from him.

I hurried to the CID reception desk, barely sensing that several steps behind me, my brother lagged. "Miss Dawson!" I called to the young, blond clerk whose head was bent over her desk.

She jerked her head up instantly. "Mr. Holmes," she said in some surprise, "can I help you… again?"

"Lestrade. Does he have visitors?"

"I don't believe so… I take it you wish to remedy that?"

"Quite."

She nodded and stood up. "Follow me," she told us, heading down a long hallway, her pleated office skirt swishing behind her.

Miss Penelope Dawson stopped in front of a door quite familiar to me and knocked. "Inspector Lestrade, Mr. Holmes wishes for another word with you."

No answer. My eyes flitted down to the latch on the door. Jammed, so as to leave the door both shut and ajar at the same time. Oh, how clever.

I nudged Mycroft, gesturing towards the broken lock silently. His eyes widened, brows shot upward in suspicion.

"Inspector?" called Miss Dawson again, knocking a bit harder. With this pressure, the door creaked open.

She leaned her head in, and gasped.

She backed out of the way, giving Mycroft and I a glimpse of the office.

Things were thrown askew all over. The chairs were overturned, glass paperweights were smashed. The Van Gogh painting which had covered the Inspector's secret safe was tossed carelessly aside, the safe open, and _empty. _Yes, a rather commonplace case of burglary, until our eyes fell on the vicinity of the desk. Spots of blood adorned the blotter, and the window had been broken from the inside.

And no Lestrade.

* * *

_-Watson-_

****At last light was given me. The gas in the room was lit, albeit dimly, and it gave me a better impression of my surroundings. I attempted a few Holmes-like deductions, but after the Professor's ultimatum, my mind did not have its' own undivided attention.

The floor was carpeted in an oriental design that was not unfamiliar to me. It came from the western regions of India. The sofa upon which I had lain was rather plain itself, and a small table made from Indian Rosewood was between me and another sofa of the same design. I guessed this was where Moriarty had sat. Photographs of plant specimens from the aforementioned oriental region adorned the walls.

A tremor of recognition ran through me, for I had seen this place before, and instantly I knew exactly where I was.

This was 13 Lower Burke St., formerly the residence of Mr. Culverton Smith, expert in South Asian and Indian diseases.

13 Lower Burke St. What was it with Moriarty and the number 13?

_-Holmes-_

****Mycroft understood just as well as I that things had gone very wrong.

I felt his gentle, quiet hand on my trembling shoulder. "What was in the safe, Sherlock?" He asked.

"I am sure classified files for ongoing cases," I said, "but also the map I had loaned him."

"What map?"

"Of London."

"Those are common enough." Mycroft shrugged.

"Yes, well this one showed the different headquarters of Professor Moriarty," I said.

Mycroft's subsequent silence told me that he understood.

"Miss Dawson!" I barked to the frightened girl in the doorway.

"Yes, sir?"

"Find me Inspector Patterson."

The timid little thing nodded and ducked out of the doorway.

For several minutes I made a minute examination of the room. My deductions were somewhat helpful, even if they didn't exactly give away the identity of Lestrade's captor. The man was near to six feet tall, about to my shoulders, considering the length of his strides and the height of the scuffmarks on the wall where he took down the Van Gogh. He was left-handed and had worked at the docks as a young lad. The blood on the desk no doubt belonged to Lestrade, and there were somewhat copious amounts of it, but unless it was a head or chest wound it would not be fatal.

I would be able to tell even more about the condition of the kidnapped man if Watson had been here.

As I was still bent over the floor, the first thing I noticed of Miss Dawson's return was Mycroft's voice addressed to her. "Where is Inspector Patterson?"

I straightened up to see the young clerk standing solemnly in the doorway. Alone.

"Sir," she replied, "Inspector Patterson left to speak with Inspector Lestrade one hour ago. Neither of them have been seen since."

Oh, how I wished I had my Boswell.

* * *

_-Watson-_

The headquarters I had been to so far were 13 High St., and 13 Lower Burke St. Moriarty was credited with essays on 13 mathematical theorems. Including the man himself, there were 13 in the Professor's inner circle.

And on my place of holding right now: did these criminal masterminds go together? If Moriarty was using the former residence of that creep Smith, didn't it suggest that they had associated with each other? I had expected that men such as them might be rivals, but now… or was it merely coincedence?

Then I recalled Moriarty's words to me: "But of course I only deal in certainties." The Professor quoting Smith also raised suspicion. But those words had been recorded at the inquest, and afterwards were freely available to the public.

Culverton Smith had been in prison for a year. The house and the words meant nothing.

I was pondering my situation further when the door opened, revealing Moriarty, my only regular visitor. He even took it upon himself to bring my meals.

"A good day to you, Professor."

"False manners are worse than none at all, doctor," replied the man calmly.

"I trust there is a reason for your visit?"

"Yes, but first I should like to know what you think of this room."

"What I think of it- why, I have been here before."

"Yes, I've heard of your unintentional help in pursuing Mr. Smith while Holmes lay presumably dying."

"How could you know? I haven't even written up my account of it yet."

"I'll gladly say that I had my eye on Holmes well before he knew of my existence."

_Of course you did, _I thought, though I had sense enough not to actually speak it. "I am enjoying them as much as I can, considering the circumstances. But I must say this is possibly the most civilized abduction I have ever been the victim of."

His eyes glinted. "I _am _a gentleman."

"A gentleman who will certainly go to the gallows for his crimes."

"No one is hanged for thinking."

"The reason for your visit?"

"Ah, yes. I wish you to come with me to another part of this building for a little… preparation I must do."

"Preparation?"

"Yes, it is merely an exercise."

"And how may I be of assistance?"

"Oh, you'll find out in a few moments."

Moriarty put his hand on my back and gently steered me towards the doorway. I was about to leave the sitting room of Culverton Smith for the first time in a year- since the last time I'd been here.

* * *

_-Holmes-_

****"Sherlock, are you out of your depths?" Mycroft asked me.

"No, Mycroft," I snapped back. I was not about to admit how utterly hopeless I felt.

Had Patterson walked in on Lestrade's capture and ended up kidnapped as well? Or had Patterson gotten there _after _Lestrade was taken, and gone to search for him? Or had Patterson kidnapped Lestrade? No, certainly not, for that would mean Patterson was a double agent. And it was only one of Patterson's men that was in Moriarty's employ, unless…

Unless it was not one of Patterson's men, but Patterson himself. He did fit my height profile.

I mentally stabbed myself with a fireplace poker.

How could I have been so stupid? No, this called for a better word than that. Senseless. Shallow. Imprudent. Irresponsible. Puerile. Desipient. Why had I assumed he was innocent just because I associated with him directly?

I had been blind. A disgrace to the rational and logical views in the world of detection.

Moriarty had started by initiating an attack on me. I responded with the proper counterattack. But he in turn had reflected the same back at me. I had wondered how on earth he guessed all my movements.

I had related them all to Patterson. I had told him everything: all my plans and theories. I had actually _shown _him my written plans and many of my marked maps.

A small wonder Moriarty knew so much. Everything I knew, in fact, courtesy of Inspector Patterson.

Which made everything I had learned over the last few months utterly useless.

I believe I had excellent reason to curse.

* * *

_-Watson-_

"But professor, aren't you afraid he'll try to run for it?"

Moriarty smiled coolly, causing his face to wrinkle with not so much age as experience. "Oh, no. You won't attempt an escape, will you, Doctor?"

Curse the accurate calculations and deductions of his profound brain. Even with my hands unbound, there was the professor himself ahead, and five armed guards making up the rear. I was not nearly foolish enough to try such a thing. "I am not an imbecile, professor," I replied as calmly as I could under the circumstances.

"Yes, there is a reason Holmes did not put you out on the street long ago."

"Because we are a team," I responded automatically.

As I spoke, the truth of the words came to me like a revelation. _We are a team. _One of us was not the same without the other. When I first met him, Holmes claimed he only worked alone, but after _A Study In Scarlet, _he'd never once objected to working with me alongside him. Unless I was in any sort of danger. There was no doubt that he realized this case would be the most dangerous we would ever face together, but I was involved nonetheless. Undoubtedly because without me there was no way he could collect enough evidence to bring down this organization. He told me himself that Moriarty had a mole in Scotland Yard... he did not know whom he could trust. Thus there was no alternative but for me to be his sounding board. But his loyalty rivaled that of Hanovers' best soldiers: he would never leave me with no help. If he was willing to get me into this danger, he had a plan to get me out.

I was able to relax somewhat. I only needed to bide my time until a proverbial window was opened for me to climb through.

"And I must admit that the two of you make an admirable team," said the professor. "Your tact and wit alone were enough to hamper the best of my plans, and put me at enough of an inconvenience that I am forced to pause and retrace the movements of my playing pieces, to find a place on the chessboard where I possibly could have gone wrong. And I commend you for pointing out these errors it appears I have made. Holmes may not realize it yet, but by foiling my plans- which he has done multiple times- he is only helping me to strengthen my web. I too am a human being: I learn from my mistakes."

_A human being, _I thought, _who through his various crimes took away parts of his own humanity. _I do not know if it was pity I felt for him, that soul that was lost to inhumanity, or if it was repulsion, or if I merely wanted to see that monster hang for his crimes. In fact, I might give pleasure in knotting the noose myself.

Finally we came to a door at the end of a hallway. Moriarty opened the door and allowed me to pass in first.

The room was wide and open- aired as houses in Asia so as to disperse the humidity somewhat. A couple comfortable sofas with a bamboo covering were against one wall, and on the other side of a sort of half-wall was a desk of dark, polished wood and a couple tables and cabinets of the same. Varying sizes and shapes of glass bottles and jars littered one of the tables and doubtless filled the cabinets to a certain extent as well.

I knew this place also, for the one other day I had been in here (shown in by a Hindi speaking servant) was all too vivid in my memory. The fear I had known and exhibited that day had if anything heightened my senses of perception, and everything was as I remembered it, excepting the arrangement of papers on the desk.

The desk of Culverton Smith. This was the office and private study of that blackguard that had nearly taken Holmes' life.

* * *

_-Holmes-_

****"Sherlock?" The use of my name was more of an inquiry than an admonishment, for he wasn't concerned with my language at this point.

"It's Patterson," I said in reply.

Mycroft's eyes hardened in understanding; he didn't need me to tell him _what _was Patterson.

"Do you know where he went?"

"Of course not! I only needed my map to find where Watson might be. If Patterson has been reporting to Moriarty, he has undoubtedly moved his locations. The map will be useless now for finding either man."

I confess that I felt rather ill. It was only through Watson that people knew my name, that I had gained my reputation. I could not continue without him.

I felt that some Providence had seen to it that we were brought together. Some ultimate circumstance that would shape our destiny. And everything had worked out, our circumstances fitting together perfectly so that each of us gave what the other required. We were a team. And as our American cousins so bluntly put it, "there is no 'I' in 'team.'" I had to find him. I couldn't bring down Moriarty alone.

* * *

_-Watson-_

****I seated myself on a sofa.

Moriarty went to the other table, from whence I could smell something slightly orange scented.

"Tea, doctor?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"It's not poisoned."

I raised my eyes to look at him. "How do I know?"

He smiled. "Because I give you a gentleman's word on it."

I finally agreed, and he poured us two cups, handing one of them to me and then taking a seat directly across from me. The tea produced quite an aroma, and the taste was quite pleasant as well, a blend of orange and jasmine with a few spices.

After a few minutes the door opened, revealing a tall man with a mop of sandy hair. "Patterson just confirmed. He has got the target, sir."

Moriarty gave a quiet ejaculation of triumph. "Wonderful. Thank you, Roberts."

"Yes, sir." And with that the man vanished.

I turned to Moriarty, a rather odd feeling rising inside of me. "Did he mean _Inspector _Patterson?"

"The one and only."

The professor rose and crossed to the desk. He did not sit down, but leaned over it with his tall, looming personage and tapped out something on a typewriter. "No," he muttered, tearing of the sheet of paper, crumpling it and tossing it carelessly into the rubbish bin. He tried again, and this time appeared to be satisfied, for he tore it off and crossed the room to me.

"Read this, and see if you find it to satisfaction," he instructed.

I accepted the missive from him and read it carefully, trying to make sense of it.

When the sun sets over the water of eternal fire, and that unknown life's anchors are finally forgiven, only then will that which you cannot account your business without will be revealed to you. But grieve, for the tiger has set out to hunt, and all may be lost.

"Why, it is absolute nonsense!" I exclaimed, handing back to him.

He smiled mysteriously. "Excellent." He walked back to the desk and picked up a pencil. He scribbled for a moment, and then returned to me. "And now?"

He had put dots under some of the letters, spelling out a sort of hidden message: he is lost.

"Just as vague as before."

He nodded at me. "I am obliged to you for previewing my note." He rang a gold-braided bell pull on the wall, calling Roberts, who had been there before.

"Deliver this to Holmes, Roberts," Moriarty told him.

"At Baker St., sir?"

"No, at Scotland Yard. The office of Inspector Lestrade."

"But sir, Inspector Lestrade won't be there. Patterson has-"

"Yes, I know." Moriarty jerked his head a miniscule amount in my direction as he broke into Roberts' protest. "Do not question me, Roberts."

The man's eyes filled with fear. "Yes, sir," he said, taking the note and leaving.

I had not the heart to finish the last of my tea, for I could guess what Roberts had been about to say.

That Patterson had taken Inspector Lestrade.

Meaning that Holmes could confer with no one at the Yard without leaking more details than necessary to officers not directly involved with the case.

He was all alone. No team. He had no help in finding me. He was going solo- and not by choice, I was sure.

* * *

_A/N: Oh, no! You know, I got this idea a couple months ago. Canonically speaking, it is possible that the mole actually was Patterson! If you think about what Moriarty would need to have known in order to escape the "net" in FINA, it does make sense! I love the ingenuity there, that it wasn't one of Patterson's men, as Holmes had suspected. I caught you totally off guard with that, didn't I? Again, I love Moriarty. As Aleine Skyfire pointed out in one of her A/N's for Deliver Us From Evil Part 1: Mortality, Moriarty is cool because he's not insane, like so many other villains. He is sane to the point of creepy. I love it. Anyhow, I'll have to find time to work on the next chapter. Have a great week! -SWS_


End file.
